


Love; My Sword and My Shield

by Ursula



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal doesn't like guns, but he will defend the ones he loves.</p><p>Sequel to Stay</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love; My Sword and My Shield

OooOooO

Quizzically, Peter studied the cup of coffee that appeared by his side. "Neal, I am on full duty. How long are you planning on hovering?"

"I'm being nice. How is that hovering?" Neal asked.

Taking a sip of the coffee, Peter said, "If I make a move to file a document, you grab it and run with it. I was going to copy that arrest report; you swore that you had to go right by the copy machine. I'm waiting to see how you stop me when I have to go to the can."

"El said..."

"Ah ha, still conspiring against me?" Peter said, watching Neal's defensive expression appear.

"Someone has to take care of you," Neal argued. "You take unnecessary chances all the time. I mean, look how you were with me. You didn't even frisk me half the time."

"You enjoyed being frisked way too much," Peter said since they were alone and teasing Neal has become his favorite sport.

"I do not!" Neal replied. "You tickle me on purpose."

"I do not," Peter insisted. "And if I was looking for a gun, it would have been on the right side of your leg where that suspicious lump kept rising."

"That's low, Peter," Neal said.

"I call them as I sees them," Peter said to see Neal's eyebrow rise.

It did. Peter went back to work feeling a lot more refreshed than coffee could account for.

OooOooO

About fifteen minutes before lunch, Peter caught a call from an informant. Merle had seen Ham Knowles, a forger who was the subject of a cold case that Peter had reopened after Neal mentioned that Knowles owned a warehouse in the packing district. Neal didn't know the address, but Peter had put out feelers. His bribes had finally paid off.

Neal was working on a fresh stack of cold cases, making notes in the laptop he was assigned. He looked bored until Peter walked toward him.

"Good," Neal said, "lunch time."

"It will have to wait," Peter said. "We have a lead on Ham Knowles."

"I'd prefer a lead on Ham Sandwich," Neal complained, but he gathered up his coat anyway.

In the car, Neal said, "It would take five minutes to grab a sandwich at the deli."

"What? You can't go another hour without eating? What happened to breakfast at June's. Italian Roast coffee, fresh croissants, expensive cheese, cut fruit?"

"You happened to it!" Neal complained. "You showed up half an hour early without warning me."

"Can I help it that I love my work?" Peter said. "I was in a hurry to get back in the trenches."

"Shouldn't we have taken Jones for back up or Lauren. Lauren has been in a bad mood all day. She would be happier for a chance to kill something," Neal said.

"We're just doing reconnaissance. Hughes is under fire for expenditures so he just ordered the department heads to reduce operations in any way we could. You don't cost the department much." Peter said. "I wouldn't take you if I thought there was danger. Don't get me wrong. I don't doubt your courage, but El is right. You are not a trained agent and I need to remember that. "

"I can take care of myself," Neal said grumpily. "And I notice when it's something you want badly enough, you have no scruples."

It was true. Peter shrugged. "It's not that I don't care."

Surprisingly, Neal nodded agreement.

The Taurus was parked out of sight. Peter kept Neal behind him as they walked to the location where Ham Knowles had been seen. "Ham" might seem like a silly nickname, but allegedly he had earned it by carving up an opponent and selling him for meat. No one could prove it, but Ham had owned a butcher shop a few years back.

Peter spotted Knowles immediately. Knowles was broad, beefy as his former occupation. His head seemed to sit directly on his shoulders as if necks were some sort of effete mannerism. He had small, narrow eyes, set deep in their sockets. His mouth was broad. His teeth were studded with gold fillings. His nose was a bulbous thing, red from broken veins. He was accompanied by a trio of what was obviously muscle. They were loading something from the warehouse into a large van.

The muscle consisted of a very large bald man, wearing a soiled white tee shirt, a man with red hair and freckles who was the only one under six feet, and a guy with a limp and long oily pony tail. Peter vaguely remembered everyone but the guy with copper colored hair from his files on Knowles. None of them were the brightest guys whereas Knowles was street smart and had a surprising talent for forgery.

"Shit," said Peter. He grabbed his cell phone to report to Hughes and to see if they could get a search warrant quickly. Instinctively, he turned and grabbed Neal by the arm, planted him against the wall, and pushed a hip against him to keep him there.

"Ooff," Neal sounded. He hissed, "Peter, I wasn't going to..."

"Shh," Peter said, not moving his body block. "Yeah, Reese, it definitely is Knowles. They seem to be packing up. I'd hate to lose this opportunity. No, I can't spot any illegal activity at this point."

There was a loud thump and Neal nudged Peter, pointing to the crate that the smallest of the henchmen, the guy with red hair, dropped. Out of the broken slats spilled a metal square that was, even viewed from here, clearly a printing plate. Ham smashed a boulder sized fist into the cowering shoulder of the carrot haired man. The guy fell right onto the crate, smashing it further.

"Isn't that exigent circumstances?" Neal asked.

"Yeah, maybe," Peter said. He had been sarcastic when he handed Neal the legal case book for warrant law. He should have known Neal would take it seriously. There was a bewildering side of Neal that could process astounding amounts of information and that enjoyed a puzzle as much as Peter did. When it showed its face, Peter loved it and it frustrated him that, in a space of moments, Neal could be distracted and difficult instead of brilliant and motivated.

"I'm calling for backup," Peter said. He reached Hughes and ran the scenario past him.

Hughes said, "See if you can delay him. Is Caffrey any help at all in the situation?"

"Not unless the guy likes card tricks," Peter saw, wincing as he saw Neal's hurt expression.

"Do what is needed," Hughes said. "I have backup on the way."

"I can do more than card tricks," Neal said, indignantly.

"I know you can, but self defense is not your forte," Peter said. He rubbed his temples, feeling the stress rise. "Stay here," Peter said. "I mean it this time."

"You always mean it," Neal said. "You have better luck with Satchmo."

"Do you want me to put you in a collar?" Peter asked. When he saw the twinkle in Neal's eyes, he said, "Don't answer that. Really don't answer that."

Neal smirked and lifted an eyebrow.

"Just stay out of trouble. Really," Peter begged.

Stepping into the open, Peter yelled, "FBI, you are under arrest."

Peter felt like he had a chance for keeping things under control. All of the men except Knowles were carrying boxes. Knowles drew a gun; Peter yelled "Stop or I'll shoot" at the same times as he fired at Knowles, outgunning him. The forger fell, clutching his arm. He swiveled to aim at the three henchmen. Carroty hair lifted his arms in surrender but bald guy and pony tail drew their guns. Peter's gun veered between them, but they were edging apart which made the situation increasingly dicey.

Peter didn't know whether to be relieved or angry when he saw Neal creeping up on the perps. What the hell was Neal carrying? It was a long hooked pole that must have been used for moving objects high on shelves. Peter wanted to wave Neal back, but it was more dangerous to draw attention to him.

"Hold still," Peter directed, wondering what was keeping his backup.

"You can't shoot both of us," the bald guy said.

"I can shoot you," Peter clarified.

Surprisingly, it was the frightened carrot haired guy who broke the stalemate. He made like a rabbit, distracting Peter long enough for the pony-tailed man to shoot. Somehow the shot missed, but bald head was also ready to fire except that Neal and his pole intervened, knocking the gun aside. Peter aimed at the pony tailed man. Meanwhile, the bald headed man grabbed the pole and tried to jerk it away from Neal.

Giving up on stopping his opponent with words, Peter shut squarely in the chest as he was taught. Pony tailed man fell back, but was up a moment later, although without his gun. The guy must have been wearing armor, Peter thought.

Peter spared a look to see how Neal was doing. His partner was holding off the bald man with the pole, using it to jab and feint, occasionally striking a blow at the large and very angry perp. Peter charged at the pony tail man, tackling him before he could get to his gun. Meanwhile, Neal seemed to have miscalculated, the bald man grabbed the pole, knocking the end into Neal's face. He recovered. The pole spun to connect solidly with the thick skull of Neal's sparring partner. He fell as Peter punched his guy, sending the man down on his ass.

At which point, four cars screeched to a halt and numerous FBI agents poured out of them. Peter saw Neal stagger and sit down suddenly on a crate. As Jones and Cruz approached, Peter gestured at the downed opponents and said, "Clean up on aisle one. Little late to the play, aren't you?"

Glancing around, Peter saw everything was more or less under control. The perps were being searched. Someone was stopping Knowles' bleeding. Peter hurried to Neal's side.

The pole had knocked Neal in the jaw. His lips were cut and the side of Neal's face was already swelling. "Hey," Peter said. "Are you okay?"

"No," Neal said miserably.

Neal's voice sounded wrong and when he uttered the single word, blood drooled from his mouth. Peter said, "Let me see."

Shaking his head slightly, Neal refused. Peter said, "Neal, open."

Finally, Neal obeyed. Peter immediately saw the problem, one of Neal's white even teeth was turned in its socket. "Crap," Peter uttered. "Get a medic over here."

"Do you have a dentist?" Peter asked.

"No," Neal whispered. "Hurts like hell."

"I'll get you to see my dentist," Peter said. "He's an old friend. He's very good. He'll save that tooth."

"Umm," Neal said, his mouth hidden behind the handkerchief he was holding to it.

"Cold," Neal said. "Car?"

"Yeah, car," Peter said, reaching down to pull Neal to his feet. He put his arm around his partner (and he did think of Neal as his partner by now even if he seldom let Neal say the word) and guided him to the faithful Taurus.

Turning on the heat, Peter intended to leave Neal, but the woebegone look stopped him. He grabbed the small first aid kit, getting Neal an ice pack.

Sighing, Neal took the pack and held it to his jaw. The lip was puffing more by the minute. The upper one had a slight cut, but the lower lip was split on the same side as the tooth was twisted in its socket. Neal slumped toward Peter, reaching his hand for Peter's leg. Peter felt Neal's head resting on his shoulder and he could not, would not push him away.

After a while, a medic showed up so Peter steadied Neal and helped swing him around so the woman could check his injuries. She winced when she inspected the tooth. Wetting down a gauze square, she packed the tooth and said, "Eyes look okay. He needs emergency dental surgery if that tooth is going to be saved. He needs to go to emergency first to have his other injuries assessed and make sure that he is not concussed."

A few moments later, Neal was loaded into an ambulance. Peter followed in his Taurus.

OooOooO

Neal leaned against Peter again as they waited for him to be seen. The emergency room was a mess of screaming kids, a gunshot injury, two gangsters in custody, and several people hacking their lungs out. It made Peter feel crazy.

When El arrived, Peter said, "Honey, can you stay with Neal? I'm going to call Louis and see if he can work with Neal. Neal has a loose tooth."

"That's a good idea," said El as Neal changed his head from Peter's shoulder to El's. El gently patted Neal's hair and Peter felt relieved that he was out of the role of caretaker.

"I know," said Peter. "Let me make my calls."

It was Milli who answered, Louis' hot wife, a little younger than Louis and still in fine shape despite having a twenty two year old daughter. She put Peter through to Louis.

"Louis, I need a big, big favor," Peter said. "My partner does not have a dentist and a perp just knocked one of his teeth sideways."

"Is it still in the socket? Not knocked out entirely?" Louis asked.

"Yeah, it's still in there, but it's crooked and I can uh see part of the root. The medic just packed it with something. We're at emergency now, but should be out in an hour or two..." Peter said. He looked back through the glass doors at the milling crowd and corrected, "Maybe three."

"Since I owe you big time," Louis said. "Yes, I'll clear my afternoon schedule."

Two years ago, Louis' daughter had fallen for a guy who Louis was sure was a sleazebag. Peter checked the guy out and found out he was a small time grifter. The daughter wasn't happy with Louis, but she found out the truth when Louis threatened to cut her off without cent. The suitor evaporated. Louis had inherited old money, but became a dentist anyway. His wealth made him a target for the grifter. Daughter was now in college and dating a very nice and safe accountant.

"Get him here," Louis said, "I'll clear my afternoon calendar so I can see him as soon as he walks out the door."

OooOooO

Three hours later, Neal was released with a butterfly bandage on his cheek, a prescription for pain medication and an antibiotic. He also had X-Rays that would save Louis time in his treatment. Neal didn't protest the wheelchair that the nurse ordered and he didn't try to flirt with her either. He was in real pain.

El had Neal's keys and said, "I'll go get you a couple changes of clothing. You are coming home where I can take care of you."

Neal already knew better than to fight El. Wise man.

OooOooO

El liked Louis Raynor. She said he had animal magnetism. Peter was not sure exactly what that meant except that Louis had a huge head, thick lips, a huge nose, large brown eyes under thick eyebrows, and sharp cheekbones but was happily married to a woman nearly as beautiful as El. Milli Raynor was so jealous of Louis that she still worked as his dental assistant to fend off what she swore were predatory females in his office. Louis also enjoyed good food and wine, fighting an endless battle to keep his somewhat stout form from going to fat. Peter had gone on a few hikes with Louis to help in that respect. Louis was one of Peter's few non-FBI friends.

Taking one look at Neal, Louis tsked and said, "Let's get you in the chair. Let me see what the emergency room doctor had to say."

"I know they said he's stable enough for you to work on the tooth," Peter said. To Neal, Peter added, "Here let me help you with your jacket, Neal."

The shirt was splattered with blood. It was probably a complete loss and the jacket might be too. Thank God it wasn't one of Neal's favorites and when did that become one of Peter's knowledge bases?

Millie, beautiful black haired Millie with the big green eyes, was assisting. She smiled at Peter and said, "You and El have to come over for dinner next week."

"You can plot it out with her," Peter said, "She's on her way here with a change of clothing for Neal. He's my partner and our friend."

The look in Neal's eyes was so intense that Peter couldn't meet it. He brought a chair over and reached a hand for Neal's. The speed with which Neal responded was heart breaking. It made Peter feel guilty. This arrangement was meant to be so professional. Peter had not wanted to care, but it was too late now. He was in over his head and with all of his heart.

"You're going to be fine," Peter reassured.

"Ah," Neal responded. He squeezed Peter's hand. They stayed hand in hand until Louis returned.

Peter's old friend turned a curious eye toward Peter, but snapped into his avuncular role as he greeted Neal. "Everything will be just fine."

The waiting room was a welcome refuge from the horrors of the dental office. Peter sighed and started to return the phone calls piling up on his silenced phone. Hughes was first, fuming because Peter had left the crime scene. Peter explained that Neal had been injured in the line of duty and that Moz was really an attorney, still on retainer for Neal. Peter said, "I am sure Neal wouldn't consider a personal injury suit."

That handled Hughes. Now Peter had to set an appointment for tomorrow for his briefing with OPR. He grimaced and stretched to get the tightness out of his shoulders. There was damn good reason besides personal preferences why Peter hated to fire his weapon. Having to be second guessed by a bureaucratic desk jockey was miserable. OPR set his appointment for eight Am tomorrow. Great. They also wanted to talk to Neal, having decided that his consultant status meant he was also their property. The woman that took Peter's call was not flexible. She wanted Neal at her office first thing in the morning too.

Peter called Jones and asked him to unplug Peter's laptop and bring it to Louis' office. He may as well get started on the report.

Smiling a little now, Peter replayed the glimpses he had caught of Neal's battle. What the hell was that Neal had been doing with the pole? It was nothing he had ever seen although it was a little reminiscent of Japanese stick fighting. Peter reviewed Neal's file in his head. Nope, other than a little fencing in college, Neal had never expressed interest in martial arts. So where had that creative little bit of fighting come from?

OooOooO Flash back to Neal Point of View OooOooO

The adrenaline from the fight had faded as soon as Neal had knocked his opponent out. When he sat down on that packing crate, he hadn't been setting a stage. His legs had gone out in a shaky, nauseating rush.

As soon as Neal realized that Peter was over his head, Neal had called Jones, bitching at the agent to hurry his ass over to them. Jones had explained they were having trouble in traffic, the stubborn New York drivers not yielding to the sirens of the NYPD cars accompanying the FBI.

Either Neal had to watch someone shoot Peter or he had to find a way to help. Neal had been creeping toward the tableau when he spotted the hooked pole. It gave him the ghost of an idea. Between fencing, a short class that Neal took in canne de combat, and a summer repertory role as Robin Hood, Neal felt confident of his ability with a stick. Keeping a close eye on Peter and the standoff, Neal angled around the white van that the men had been loading.

If Peter kept control, Neal would stay hidden, but he had a feeling that this was not going to go well.

Sure enough, when the spindly red haired guy ran, the two other henchmen used the distraction to split up, causing Peter to waiver between them with his gun. If it was Neal facing Peter, he would have found some way to use the situation to get Kate or Moz, whichever had been with him to safety. He always knew that it was his job to be the sacrifice. These men however might be partners, but they had no scruples. Each of them was willing to have the other shot to have a chance at getting away.

The bald headed guy was nearer so he would be Neal's target. Too bad. He was a scary guy with a barrel chest and a head like a bull, neck optional. His arms were both sleeved with blood thirsty designs, snakes with bloody fangs and eyes bulging from skulls. The guy's shoulders were huge and not with fat. He rolled with muscle. Neal kept his eye focused on the gun. Get rid of the gun and Peter's safety was increased by one half. Neal's stomach gave a nervous twist. He hated violence; he really did.

Neal's first strike sent the gun flying. His plan was successful in that respect. However, bald head was pissed. He whirled, saw Neal, and went for him. Neal went on point, jabbing the pole as if it was a long sword. Bald Head went red and white as Neal got a good strike into his chest. Recovering, the man charged at Neal. Neal struck him on the arm. The man roared, grabbed Neal's weapon. Neal knew it would be a disaster to let it go so he fought to keep it. When Neal won the battle, the end of the pole whacked him in the face so hard that Neal saw bursts of red light. He might have gone out, but he held on, getting the pole in position. He knew by the pain radiating from his jaw that this was his last chance to get bald head out of the fray. He hit hard and had the pleasure of watching the man tumble to the ground. One brief handful of seconds. The guy was not moving. Neal saw Peter take out his man as relief arrived in the shape of several police cars along with unmarked FBI cars.

The biggest crate was abandoned by the van. Neal crumpled onto it. His mouth hurt horribly and blood had flowed onto his shirt. Droplets had fallen onto his jacket. When Peter walked toward him, Neal was fumbling for his handkerchief. Talking to Peter released bloody drool from his mouth. It was sickening. Neal held the cloth to his mouth even though it hurt.

It felt good to surrender to Peter, to be lifted to his feet, guided to the car, and to be allowed to rest his head on Peter's broad shoulder. This felt right. Neal hated it when Peter was hurt because this was how he always imagined Peter, so strong, so sure, someone you could trust to do the right thing.

Neal knew that Peter was going to piss Hughes off by leaving the scene with him, but right now he didn't care. He just needed Peter. He needed Peter to take care of him, make the decisions, and cart him off just like a brave knight. Neal did what had to be done, but now he was glad to be in Peter's protection. The thing that Neal noticed was that it was better to be on the white knight's side. He was done with being a dragon.

OooOooO Back to Present OooOooO

Neal's friend was kind and efficient, but even so, Neal's mouth hurt like hell. The multiple shots to numb him hurt and he could still feel the pain radiating from his jaw.

"What I am going to do is push your tooth back into place," the dental surgeon said.

"Uh huh," Neal got out through all the apparatus in his mouth. For a guy without a gag reflex to speak of, Neal felt a little panicked about having his mouth jammed open and filled with a wedge of something, fingers and implements.

It was hard not to feel trapped by the chair, the dental surgeon and the assistants, two of them, surrounding him. Neal closed his eyes, tried to think of something pleasant like El, who was a sex goddess, a tough, but caring friend, and someone who mothered him. He adored her as much as he loved Peter. He would do anything for either of them. He was pleased despite the pain that he had handled the situation and helped Peter. Card tricks, indeed!

The voices pooled around him, discussing his injury in terms he couldn't understand. Doctor Raynor had told Neal to raise his hand if something was too uncomfortable. It felt like something gross was sliding down Neal's throat, drowning him. He raised his hand and tried to get out what was wrong. The older assistant seemed an expert at interpreting inarticulate utterances as she, Milli, rinsed and suctioned his mouth. The clot was sucked away.

The dentist said, "I'm going to splint your tooth back in place. Your gum wasn't badly damaged and the root looks healthy so you may not need a root canal. I'll need you back in a week so I can assess. The splint is not going to look pretty. I'll be using a contrasting composite so I can remove it easily once I feel your tooth is set well enough. You are going to need to stick to a soft food diet for seven to ten days. Things like soup, cottage cheese. Sorry, but we want that tooth to implant in place firmly before you stress it."

It didn't sound like fun, but it was better than losing an incisor tooth. Neal would hate to have a gap in his smile or the worry of an artificial denture. He made consenting sounds. It felt as if he had been in this chair for days. He could feel the tension in his neck, through his shoulders, and his hand hurt from gripping the side of the chair so hard.

It was too much time to spend silent, unable to talk to distract himself. Time in which he had to relive his acts and his fear. Some men would be happy that they had acted. Neal was happy he had helped Peter but not that he had resort to violence to do it. It wasn't him. Early in his criminal career, alleged career if Peter was indulging in mind reading, Neal made a promise to himself that he would never use a weapon, never even fight back seriously if was caught. He knew that there were costs to the high life, the giddy rush of a glorious scam or a perfect forgery. He was determined to pay that price with his freedom or even his life if he had to do it. How strange that, for Peter, he broke all those promises.

OooOooO

When they let him up, Neal could not stand at first. He felt dizzy, his mouth full of nasty tastes. The side of his face felt as if it either was not there or as if it was big as the room. A glimpse in the protective glasses the dentist was wearing was off putting. He was bruised, puffy, and had blood on his face again after having a chance to wash it off at the emergency room.

The dental assistant gently washed his face, but even the faint touch made him wince. A moment later, Peter entered the room, lifted Neal to his feet, put his arm around Neal's waist, helping him to the elevator. Neal thought this was something deep and symbolic, that he trusted Peter to get him safely away from his misery. To take care of him. Neal could hardly remember anyone who wanted to take care of him except maybe Moz who could and would mother hen.

Kate had always been hopeless when Neal was sick or injured. She just did not have it in her to nurture. The closest she would come to taking care was finding Moz and sending him to care for Neal. She would come back when Moz assured her that Neal was well. Fortunately, Neal was healthy and a good healer so it had only been a handful of occasions in Neal's criminal career. Now it was a good thing that Neal had Peter, Elizabeth, and Moz to care for him. Working for the FBI was more dangerous than Neal realized.

OooOooO

Peter helped Neal from the chair and Neal leaned into him so trustingly that Peter felt his heart jolt. Neal was walking like he had no sense of where and what his body was doing. Peter kept his arm around Neal's waist, carrying most of his partner's weight on his own body. Neal looked horrible, his jaw swollen, his lip cut and flecked with blood, his face bruising. Neal didn't feel heavy, but the guilt did.

So far, Neal had been shot at, held at gun point several times, framed and thrown back into prison, and now he had his beautiful face threatened. Peter tried to put a censor on his thoughts which led him to gray areas of his mind, like noticing how pretty his partner was.

"How you doing?" Peter asked.

"Feel shitty," Neal said or what it sounded like was "feesh shihe"

"I am so sorry," Peter said.

"Okay," Neal replied, word said through barely opened lips.

But it was not okay. Peter shook his head and said, "You should have stayed in the car."

El said, "No, he shouldn't have, Peter. Thank him. He saved your life!"

When Peter glanced her way, El glared. "I mean it. Thank him!"

As they walked into the elevator, Peter said, "Neal, she's right. I would be dead now without you."

The happiness in Neal's eyes when Peter said it made the risk of encouraging Neal to take more chances worth it.

OooOooO

Peter went into the pharmacy to fill Neal's prescriptions. He had antibiotics, Vicodin, and Ibuprofen to help reduce swelling. When Peter came out, El was on the phone. She said, "No, Moz, I am sure that Peter is not trying to get Neal killed. Yes, do come over and check on him. I will take good care of him. Okay. No, I will not say that to Peter. Neal says be nice."

As Peter frowned at her, Elizabeth smiled brightly and remarked, "What a sweet man Moz is. He really cares about Neal."

"Yeah, I already nominated him for henchman of the year," Peter said.

"You are so cute when you are grumpy," El said.

Neal mumbled something that sounded like agreement.

Outnumbered again, Peter tried to remember why he thought that partnering with Neal was a good idea. Oh, right, El said so.

OooOooO

The stairs were a problem, but Peter managed to guide Neal up them. He remembered Neal helping him when he had the broken ankle. It had surprised Peter to feel the strength is the body he thought was small and frail compared to his own. He saw the muscles when he wasn't forcing himself not to gaze on Neal's comely body when he dressed or undressed in front of Peter. Peter just kept forgetting the truth because Neal projected the illusion of being harmless so well.

Sitting Neal on the bed, Peter knelt at his feet to take his shoes off. Neal had already taken the Vicodin and looked stoned. "Peter, lish whez this oing."

Which probably meant "Like where this was going."

Peter ignored that and took off Neal's socks. He stood and carefully got the jacket off and then the bloody shirt. He said, "This shirt is toast, Neal. You want me to toss it?"

Neal nodded carefully, minding his aching jaw. Peter gritted his teeth to prepare for the next step, the pants. He could see all the innuendos that wanted to be aired, but Neal knew his mouth wasn't up to the chore.

After putting Neal in his own sweatpants and one of Peter's tee shirts, because the larger shirt helped to minimize jostling his head, Peter helped Neal to lie down and covered him.

"Stay," Neal managed.

"I will," Peter said, sitting on the bed. It hit him in a dizzying dearth of energy. He felt as if he wouldn't have the energy to move even if three thugs and a speeding moving truck came his way. He sighed and slumped.

"Okay?" Neal asked.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," Peter said. "Get some rest, Neal."

OooOooO

Moz showed up about the time that Neal drifted off. Peter saw the expression on Moz's face and shook his head. "Don't. Not here. He just went to sleep. You can yell at me later," Peter whispered.

"I can watch him," Moz said, his eyes telling Peter to get out.

Giving in, Peter vacated the chair to which he had moved and said, "Moz, El will get you anything you need. I have to go to my office."

Moz looked fierce as he glared at Peter.

What could Peter say? He should have waited, should have given up on capturing Ham Knowles. There would have been a more optimal time. He also could have taken a full team, argued with Hughes about this not being the time to conserve resources.

OooOooO

The office mood was jubilant. It was a major bust and Peter had come out unscathed. Hughes crooked a finger and Peter went. He realized although he subconsciously imitated his boss, he didn't like being called that way. He went anyway, giving Jones a look that sent his current favorite subordinate to wait for him in his office. Lauren followed Jones.

"Good work, Burke," Hughes said, gesturing for Peter to sit down. "Knowles will survive to stand trial. I am very pleased about the amount of evidence. We have the plates for the forgery, the paper, the ink. The only way for it to be a better case would be if they took pictures or used their cell phones and uploaded themselves to You-Tube."

Hughes looked down his patrician nose and said, "Yes, Burke, I know about You Tube. I keep my skills current and I also have grandchildren who keep me abreast of anything I need to know about current events."

"Didn't say a word, sir," Peter said.

"I should reprimand you for leaving the scene," Hughes said, "But it is increasingly evident that you consider Caffrey to be your partner. God help you. My experience tells me that this can't end well, but I've been wrong on occasion. I am a bit impressed with Caffrey dashing to your rescue. You'll have to find out where he learned that stick fighting. You never reported that."

"I didn't know about it," Peter said. "Yes, sir, I will ask him when he feels better."

"Go ahead and debrief your team," Hughes said. "I am very pleased with you, Burke." Hughes frowned and said, "With Caffrey too. I might be able to find it in me to trust him yet."

"Yes, sir, I am sure he would appreciate hearing that," Peter said, stuffing rebellion and anger deep inside him.

OooOooO

Cruz's first comment was "Congratulations, Peter; that was spectacular."

Jones said, "Peter, how is Neal?"

Yeah, Jones was definitely the favorite. Peter smiled at him and replied, "He's not great, but no permanent damage done. OPR insists that he come in with me for questioning in the morning. After that, he's out for the day, probably for the week. He really got a good one in the face with that pole he was using."

"It was worth it though," Lauren said. "We might have lost Ham Knowles forever."

"Better him than Neal," Peter said.

"He takes his chances like the rest of us," Lauren said.

"Without a gun?" Peter said. "When's the last time you faced down an armed felon without a gun?"

"Well," Lauren said then dropped her eyes and said, "I haven't."

"I thought so," Peter said. "Okay, let's finalize the initial report. I'll meet with the prosecutors as soon as we are finished."

It was late, but this was a great case. One or more of the prosecutors would be waiting to get the reports, grab them, and draft the charges into the elegant and ponderous legal language. The day would not end for Peter until he had delivered his report to the prosecutors and met with whoever caught the case.

Back to work, Neal and his woes were shoved temporarily to the back of Peter's head.

OooOooO

It was late before Peter returned, but Neal was sitting on the couch awake. Peter was glad to see him alert and well enough to be sitting up. Neal's bare feet were propped on the table on a cushion. His pants leg was pulled up, showing the monitor. Pillows propped him up, El's work obviously.

"El drove Moz home when you called and said you would be back soon" Neal said, patting the couch in invitation.

Peter smiled and set his briefcase in the usual spot. "How are you?"

Joining Neal on the couch, Peter twisted to have a good luck. "Your cheek looks like a chipmunk's."

"Thanks for that," Neal said, speech clearer.

"You have to go into OPR tomorrow," Peter said, "I'll drive you straight back here after they are done with you. I tried to tell them you were in no state to be at work, but they won’t listen. You have to have a doctorate in assholery to work at OPR."

"Mmph," Neal said.

"Why don't I get you back to bed?" Peter said. "I'll sit with you a while."

The smile was not Neal's usual bright one, but it indicated approval of Peter's plan. Peter removed the barricade of pillows and helped Neal up. His arm went around Neal's waist and Neal leaned into him, letting himself be guided up the stairs again.

Peter couldn't help brushing his hand through Neal's hair as he helped him into the bed. Neal reached up, caressed Peter's hand. Peter leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. A brief, almost fraternal kiss, but the look that passed between them was the promise of more. There were things in life you can't resist, gifts you were given that you did not look for, but were too precious to spurn. Neal was that in Peter's life, a puzzling, topsy-turvy whirlwind which blew into Peter's life, bringing frightening and wonderful possibilities.

"Sleep," Peter said, "Rest."

"Peter..." Neal said. "I want."

"I know," Peter said, "we will make this work because I can't imagine a life without you. I don't want to imagine."

Neal finally settled into sleep. Peter kissed his cheek lightly before going downstairs when he heard Elizabeth coming back.

"Is he asleep?" El asked. "He wanted to wait up for you."

"Yeah, I just put him to bed. El, I..."

"You love him. I love him. He loves you and I think he loves me," El said. "Stop blushing and don't apologize. Just let it happen. You over think, Peter. You worry all the time."

"I do, don't I?" Peter admitted, smiling at El.

Leaning up, El kissed Peter's forehead. "You do. Just let it happen. It will unfold the way it is meant to."

"El," Peter protested. He was more of the non-Zen school of taking matters into his own hands when he wanted something.

"It will be fine," El said. "Let's go to bed."

When Peter glanced toward his briefcase, El tugged his arm and said, "Now. You need a rested and clear head to meet with OPR. And you don't want to mess with me tonight."

Helplessly, Peter allowed himself to be tugged upstairs and forced into bed.

OooOooO

The world was not a happy place when Neal woke up. His jaw pounded with agony. His stomach was sending evacuation messages to his brain. Gingerly, Neal sat up. He slowly moved across the room. Peter, mind-reader Peter whom Neal had met when Peter captured him the first time, waited for him on the other side of the door. Peter guided him to the bathroom and waited discreetly on the other side. Neal dry heaved into the toilet. He had a toothbrush here and gingerly used it as well as he could. His mouth was so stiff and sore that he was barely able to brush all of the teeth on the uninjured side of his face. He couldn't bring himself to try to maneuver anyplace close to what the dentist said was an avulsed tooth.

Someone knocked on the door. Neal opened it and Peter handed him a big glass of water. "It's salt water. El said you need to gargle with it."

Neal took it and Peter said, "I'll get your clothes for you. You know where the towels are."

Peter even managed to put together one of Neal's favorite suit, shirt, and ties. He might not look up to his usual standards with his facial injuries and swollen cheek, but at least he would match.

The salt water seemed to help. It didn't sting and the raw feeling side of his mouth seemed to hurt less. In the shower, Neal turned the water up as hot as he could stand, the heat relieving the twinges that told him where he had been injured. Neal shaved with Peter's electric razor, careful of the cut on his cheek and his cut lip. He tried to ignore the pain as he put on his suit, but he knew it was there. He thought longingly of the Vicodin but didn't dare to take any if he was talking to OPR.

Elizabeth had made him some concoction of fruit, protein drink, and ice cream. Neal didn't want it but El made her scary face and he took it, pulling carefully at the straw, finding that sucking on a straw was painful. However, the smoothie eased his stomach and soothed the burn of the Ibuprofen tablet he had taken. Peter finished a hasty breakfast and they went out the door. Neal slid into the seat across from Peter, the familiar routine comforting.

A little surprised when they passed the FBI offices, Neal asked, "Where is the OPR?"

"They are housed in the Department of Justice offices," Peter replied. "They provide oversight to the FBI so officially they are outside of the bureau. Some agents transfer over to OPR though. Fowler is one."

"You don't like them," Neal said.

"Yeah, I don't like them," Peter said. "They make it difficult to do my job the way I want. I don't like to be second guessed. I don't want you to worry though. This is not going to be Fowler. This is routine. I go through this every time I fire my gun unless it is on the practice range. Nothing bad will happen to you. I promise."

Neal knew that as much as Peter meant his promise, everything in the world was not under Burke-control. However, Neal didn't want Peter to worry. Not about Neal or himself. "You didn't have any choice in this situation. Knowles shot first," Neal said.

"It should be short and sweet," Peter said. "Routine."

They were hitting every red light, but Peter had insisted on leaving early enough to accommodate New York traffic. "So where did you learn to use a pole like that? It wasn't in your file."

"Missed something about me?" Neal said. "I took a class on Canne de Combat in France."

"In what name?" Peter asked.

"No, Peter, we need to keep some secrets. The mystery and all," Neal said. He added, "I played Robin Hood in summer repertory and we had a quarterstaff coach. Plus you know I took fencing in college."

"Yeah, I would like to see you fence," Peter said. "I always liked fencing."

"I'll show you sometime if Moz will play. He took fencing too so he could shine at Science Fiction conventions," Neal said. "We used to practice together."

After much driving around, Peter found a parking slot at the Department of Justice when another visitor pulled out. Neal followed Peter to the elevator, girding his loins for combat.

OooOooO

The female agent to whom Neal was assigned was short haired and short tempered. She was blond going gray and had one of those square faces that seemed to be FBI issue. Nothing about her stood out except her very blandness. Neal could not read her at all, which was disconcerting. However, she stuck to the topic, which Neal appreciated. Once Neal described the scene, his decision to help Peter, and the sequence of events that led to Peter firing, he was done.

They kept Peter longer and Neal was exhausted before Peter was released. He sat, not even glancing at magazines in the small uncomfortable waiting room. He noticed people dropping by to stare, knew that they knew who he was and that he was being gawked at like an animal in the zoo. Neal felt like trying to pick his way into the Taurus. He needed a nap and away from those hostile eyes.

Finally, Peter emerged, not looking worse for the wear. He nodded to Neal, offered a hand up and ushered Neal to the elevator. Neal said, "Moz wants me home. He'll take care of me."

Peter's eyes flickered. Neal said, "El has an event to plan. You can pick me up after work if you want. El wants to cook me dinner, something that I can eat."

"I want," Peter said. "Okay, I guess I can get back in Moz's good graces."

"He's my friend,' Neal said.

"I'm your friend too," Peter said, his voice deep and possessive the way that always made Neal feel like jumping him.

"Yes, you are," Neal said. "And more."

"And more," Peter repeated as they turned toward June's house.

Neal wrapped that around him to get through the long day of misery before him.

OooOooO

Peter showed up at six to pick Neal up from an unhappy Moz. Moz had moved the TV to where Neal could see it from bed, but had played more of his Tiles of Fire DVDs so the end result was that Neal was bored into sleep. Leaving Moz to watch the sixth movie with June, Neal was glad to escape with Peter.

"I don't know what I can eat though," Neal said, as they got into the car.

"El is making a French oyster soup which she says will be so tender that you could drink it with a straw," Peter promised, "and she is making a fresh fruit sorbet."

"That sounds good," Neal said. "I finally have an appetite. Moz kept trying to force food down me, but I resisted. I'm going to stop the Vicodin. The pain is nasty, but the way I feel on Vicodin is worse."

"I didn't like it either when they had me on it," Peter said.

"You didn't work late," Neal said.

"One big bust a week is good enough for me," Peter replied.

"Sometimes," Neal replied.

"This week, at least," Peter said. "Something is missing these days when I don’t have you with me."

"That would make me smile if I hadn't sworn off until my mouth heals," Neal said.

Peter did smile, a warm wonderful smile that lit up his face. Neal could get lost in that smile.

The house was redolent with good smells. El said, "Go wash your hands and sit down. It's ready."

Peter held his chair for him, Neal was amused. Peter had this interesting thing with him, a little confused by courtship when it was a guy. It led Peter to put a hand behind him to help Neal up, touch his arm at times when they crossed the street, all those darling old fashioned gentlemen things that Neal found adorable. The sweetest part of it was that it started long before Peter had ever even hinted at his interest. Neal was no lady, but it still touched him that Peter could be so quintessentially Peter with him.

El, of course, got the same treatment. Peter pulled her chair out, his eyes almost bewildered with his pride that she chose him. Peter kissed her cheek as he moved away, something that Neal wanted from him next time.

Neal smiled at El as she handled him a large bowl of soup. True to Peter's words the tiny oysters in the soup were tender enough to crush with his tongue. The explosions of flavor chased the lingering sourness of Vicodin from his mouth. The potatoes, carrots, and what must have been leek were blended into a creamy puree. Neal said, "El, I know you're already married, but surely Peter wouldn't mind me proposing on the basis of this soup."

"Just for the soup?" El said.

"On top of being the perfect woman," Neal said, a mere twinge of guilt at the thought of Kate, "who has the world's greatest husband."

"Who you want to share," El said.

Neal had learned to play it cool a long time ago. He said, "Only if you please."

"I please," El said, giving Neal an incredibly sexy look.

Neal gazed at her until he was sure she was serious. She was. He wasn't sure how he had earned this, but he wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted in the world. He had to face it. He wanted Peter more than he wanted Kate.

Great time to get permission from the lovely El. There was nothing that Neal could do with any comfort unless it was holding hands. He shook his head at the unfortunate realization and Peter smiled back and mouthed the word, "Later."

It was worrisome how well that Peter could read Neal.

Yes, later. Meanwhile, there was oyster soup and, as El rose to get it, elegant fruit sorbet with fresh mint leaves quivering on the side.

There was Peter's admission of love and El's permission to pursue that love.

Neal dismissed his aching jaw and puffy cheek. They could not make him regret helping Peter. He had acted with love and love was what he had. Neal had acted without thought and with perfect trust.

Love was his sword and shield.

XOXO the end


End file.
